istakes, and it may be we have done so in this case,
but we'll chance it. Good-night again."

The merchant sprang lightly into his buggy, and drove down the road at a
rapid pace, while the farmer, gazing for a moment or two in the direction
of the cloud of dust, rejoined his wife and Tom on the porch.

Chapter XX.

And now let's take a big jump forward. Hold your breath while we gather
our muscles for the effort, for when we land, it is at a point four years
from the day when Tom Gordon entered the employ of Josiah Warmore, the
leading merchant in the town of Bellemore, on the Hudson.

There have been many changes in those years, but in some respects slight
differences could be noted. It would be hard to tell from looking at Mr.
Warmore that he was one day older than when he stopped at the home of
Farmer Pitcairn and hired Tom Gordon. His hair and whiskers were so white
at that time that they could not grow any whiter. The face wears the same
kindly expression, the shoulders are no more stooped than they were then,
and his walk is as brisk and sprightly as ever. Few of his clerks are more
alert of movement than he.

Much the same may be said of Farmer Pitcairn and his wife. Possibly there
is an additional wrinkle or two on their homely faces, but their hearts
are as genial and as kindly as ever. They love Tom Gordon as if he were
their own son, and he fully returns the affection they feel for him.

And how has it been with Tom during those four years?

Well, he has had his shadow and sunshine, like the rest of us, but there
has been far more of the latter than the former. How could it be
otherwise, when I tell you that he has stood as firm as a rock upon the
principles that were implanted in his heart and soul by his noble mother?
He could never forget her teachings, which were added to by other wise and
good persons with whom he was thrown in contact later.

Now, Tom Gordon became what I call a healthy, sensible Christian youth. He
was not the good boy we used to read about in the Sunday-school books, who
mopes around, forever preaching a sermon whenever he opens his lips, and
finding a "lesson" in everything, even the leap of a grasshopper. When
those boys become so good that they can be no better, they generally lie
down, call all their playmates around them, deliver a farewell sermon, and
then depart. The mistake of that sort of life is that it makes religion
unattractive. It gives the idea that "th